Journey Of No Return

Brinda

The weight of yesterday’s sins pressed heavily on me. The money I had stolen from Mr. Donald when I killed him was gone, swallowed up by my desperation.

My mother had been thrown out of the hospital, and now I was left with nothing but the remnants of my choices. There was only one place left to go — back to the clubhouse.

Who the hell goes back to where they murdered a person?

But what other option did I have? I had no choice.

I stepped out of the taxi, my last cash slipping through my fingers. The money Peter had given was nearly all gone, swallowed by the cost of setting up a clinic at home for my mother.

As I neared the entrance of the clubhouse, an overwhelming dread gripped me. My mind spiraled with thoughts of getting caught — of being dragged away by the police for what I had done. But I had to take the risk. I had to find a way to get the money.

I stepped inside, the familiar scent of stale alcohol and cigarette smoke mixing with a sickening sense of panic.

The air felt heavy. And there they were — the hunger-faced policemen, standing like vultures waiting for the next meal. Mr. Desmond was there too, his large belly bouncing with each step he took, his smile wide and wicked.

Then I saw it.

Mr. Donald’s body. Lying on the floor, cold and still. My heart skipped a beat.

I blinked, trying to push away the growing wave of panic. Sweat beaded on my forehead, my breath shallow. I wiped my face, trying to steady myself.

“Look who we have here… Brinda,” Mr. Desmond said, his voice dripping with excitement. If anyone would be thrilled by Mr. Donald’s death, it was him. He had coveted that position for years.

I forced myself to stand tall. “Why are you calling my name? I’m here for my share of the performance from two nights ago.”

The lead policeman stepped toward me, his eyes narrowing. “Why are you nervous?” he asked, a smile curling at the edge of his lips.

“Normal. It’s hot outside,” I replied, trying to sound nonchalant even as my heart pounded in my chest.

“Well, you’re the main suspect. You’ll be coming with us to the station to give a statement.” His words hit like a slap. “The evidence we’ve gathered points to you.”

“Main suspect?” I scoffed, trying to mask the rising panic. “Really? Is this how things work here? What evidence do you have?”

The policeman glared at me, his gaze unwavering. “You were the last one to argue with the deceased. That’s enough for us.”

“I thought the law worked with visual evidence, not... assumptions,” I said, trying to keep the edge out of my voice.

“Not in your case,” the officer said coldly. “We’ll contact you when we need you.” He waved to his men, who began moving Mr. Donald’s body out of the room.

As they carried the corpse away, I watched, my heart racing. How had I missed the van parked outside? Had they been waiting for me to slip up?

Once the room was cleared, I followed Mr. Desmond into the office — the office where everything had gone so wrong. The memories of that day played in my mind like a nightmare on repeat, but I had to stay focused.

“I’m here for my money,” I said, my voice firm despite the chaos inside me. “My mother’s dying. And the video… who released it?”

Mr. Desmond lit a cigarette, taking a slow drag before speaking. “Mr. Donald is dead. As his younger brother and former assistant, it’s my duty to take over his position. And if you don’t understand that now, you will. If you want your money, go to the deceased. I have nothing for you.”

His words were a slap to my face. He was using Donald’s death to control everything. I wanted to lash out, to do to him what I had done to Mr. Donald, but I held back. Not now. Not with everything on the line.

“So, you won’t pay me?” I asked, my voice trembling with fury.

“No,” he answered bluntly.

With my hope shattered, I turned to leave. My phone rang just as I stepped out of the building. The number was private.

My stomach sank.

I answered quickly, hoping it was someone — anyone — who could help.

“Hello? Who is this?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady, even as dread gripped my chest.

“Brinda, you have two options,” the voice on the other end said, a deep, menacing tone that sent a chill through me.

Fear crawled up my spine. “What options? Who are you?” My voice was shaky now, trembling with the weight of the unknown.

“Point a gun at your best friend and spill his blood, or watch your stepmother die in your arms. You have twenty-five minutes to decide.”

The voice was cold, its words like a death sentence. Terror flooded my veins.

“Why should I do that? Who the hell are you?” I demanded, my voice rising despite the fear tightening around my throat.

“You’ll do as I say, or your best friend dies,” the voice laughed, a low, cruel sound before the line went dead.

“Hello? Hello?” I said frantically, clutching my handbag so tightly my knuckles turned white.

The past.

They always say everything you do has consequences, whether good or bad. And now, it felt like my past was coming back to haunt me in the most unimaginable way.

Was this my punishment? For all the mistakes I had made?

The phone rang again, and I saw it was the same private number. I answered it quickly, heart pounding.

“You haven’t moved, Brinda. What are you waiting for? Don’t you value their lives? Or are you still the cold-hearted Brinda I used to know?” The voice was calm but laced with something darker.

I glanced around, feeling the sharp, oppressive sense of being watched. The black cars. The men in black suits. And the masked figure. Who were they?

“Why are you doing this? I’m already in distress. How can I handle all of this?” I begged, my voice breaking under the weight of everything.

“A cab is waiting for you across the street. Get in,” the voice ordered.

Nervously, I scanned the street. I saw the cab, parked across from me. With no other choice, I walked to it and climbed in.

“Tell the driver where to go,” the voice instructed.

I refused to speak. I wouldn’t give them control over me, not yet. But the cab started moving anyway. It was clear now — the driver was in on it too.

The ride to an unknown destination felt like an eternity. My hands gripped the seat, and my mind raced.

What was waiting for me at the end of this ride?

After what felt like hours, the cab stopped. I stepped out, and my breath caught in my throat. There, at the edge of a cliff, was Peter. I screamed his name, but he didn’t react.

My phone rang again.

“I know you can’t choose between him and your stepmother,” the voice said. “Look at his feet. There’s a gun. Shoot him!”

I was in a trance, my body moving on its own. I stepped closer to Peter, who was pale, his body limp and bound. His eyes met mine, pleading with me, but I had no choice.

“Brinda, you have twenty seconds. Make the decision, or you lose them both.”

The countdown began, each second stretching like an eternity.

“Five… Four… Three… Two…”

I closed the gap between us, and without a word, I kicked him. He tumbled backward, his scream echoing through the air as he fell into the abyss below.

My body felt numb as I stared at the spot where he had fallen, his last cry still haunting my ears.

The sunset was beginning to cast a red glow across the horizon when cars began pulling up behind me.

I turned slowly and saw him.

The man who had orchestrated all of this. The masked man. He stepped out of the first car, his dreadlocks swaying with each stride, his presence commanding and terrifying.

He approached me slowly, and when he was close enough, he placed his hand on his face and removed the mask.

My jaw dropped.

“Francesco Dante,” I whispered, the shock and horror filling every inch of my being.